She saw the desperate assault
Upon that hostile castle made;
But dark and dismal is the vault
Where Norton and his sons are laid!
"This night yon faithless Towers must yield, Or we for ever quit the field.
-Neville is utterly dismayed,
For promise fails of Howard's aid;
And Dacre to our call replies
That he is unprepared to rise.
Must needs be fatal to our cause.
The breach is open, on the wall,
This night, the Banner shall be planted!"
-'T was done: his Sons were with him,―all; They belt him round with hearts undaunted And others follow: Sire and Son
Leap down into the court: ""Tis won,
That with their joyful shout should close
The triumph of a desperate deed
Which struck with terror friends and foes!
The friend shrinks back, the foe recoils,
From Norton and his filial band;
But they, now caught within the toils,
Against a thousand cannot stand;
The foe from numbers courage drew,
And overpowered that gallant few.
"A rescue for the Standard!" cried
The Father from within the walls;
But, see, the sacred Standard falls!
Confusion through the Camp spread wide:
Some fled; and some their fears detained:
But ere the Moon had sunk to rest
In her pale chambers of the west,
Of that rash levy naught remained.
HIGH on a point of rugged ground
Among the wastes of Rylstone Fell,
Above the loftiest ridge or mound
Where foresters or shepherds dwell,
An edifice of warlike frame
Stands single, Norton Tower its name;
It fronts all quarters, and looks round
O'er path and road, and plain and dell,
Dark moor, and gleam of pool and stream,
Upon a prospect without bound.
The summit of this bold ascent-
Though bleak and bare, and seldom free
As Pendle Hill or Pennygent
From wind, or frost, or vapors wet-
Had often heard the sound of glee
When there the youthful Nortons met,
To practise games and archery :
How proud and happy they! the crowd
Of Lookers-on how pleased and proud!
And from the scorching noontide sun,
From showers, or when the prize was won,
They to the Tower withdrew, and there
Would mirth run round, with generous fare;
And the stern old Lord of Rylstone hall
Was happiest, proudest, of them all!
But now, his Child, with anguish pale, Upon the height walks to and fro;
'Tis well that she hath heard the tale,
Received the bitterness and woe:
For she had hoped, had hoped and feared,
Such right did feeble nature claim;
And oft her steps had hither steered,
Though not unconscious of self-blame;
For she her Brother's charge revered,
His farewell words; and by the same,
Yea by her Brother's very name,
Had, in her solitude, been cheered.
Beside the lonely watch-tower stood
That gray-haired man of gentle blood,
Who with her Father had grown old
In friendship; rival hunters they,
And fellow-warriors in their day;
To Rylstone he the tidings brought;
Then on this height the Maid had sought,
And, gently as he could, had told
The end of that dire Tragedy,
Which it had been his lot to see.
To him the Lady turned: "You said That Francis lives, he is not dead?"
"Your noble Brother hath been spared; To take his life they have not dared; On him and on his high endeavor
The light of praise shall shine for ever!
Nor did he (such Heaven's will) in vain
His solitary course maintain;
Not vainly struggled in the might
Of duty, seeing with clear sight;
He was their comfort to the last,
Their joy till every pang was past.
"I witnessed when to York they came,
What, Lady, if their feet were tied ;
They might deserve a good man's blame;
But marks of infamy and shame,
These were their triumph, these their pride;
Nor wanted 'mid the pressing crowd
Deep feeling, that found utterance loud,
'Lo, Francis comes,' there were who cried,
'A Prisoner once, but now set free!
'Tis well, for he the worst defied
Through force of natural piety;
He rose not in this quarrel, he,
For concord's sake and England's good,
Suit to his Brothers often made
With tears, and of his Father prayed, —
And when he had in vain withstood
Their purpose, then did he divide,
He parted from them; but at their side
Now walks in unanimity.
Then peace to cruelty and scorn,
While to the prison they are borne,
Peace, peace to all indignity!'
"And so in Prison were they laid, O hear me, hear me, gentle Maid! For I am come with power to bless,
By scattering gleams, through your distress, Of a redeeming happiness.
Me did a reverent pity move
And privilege of ancient love;
And, in your service making bold,
Entrance I gained to that stronghold.
"Your Father gave me cordial greeting; But to his purposes, that burned Within him, instantly returned:
He was commanding and entreating,
And said, 'We need not stop, my Son!
Thoughts press, and time is hurrying on,' -
And so to Francis he renewed
His words, more calmly thus pursued.
"Might this our enterprise have sped, Change wide and deep the Land had seen, A renovation from the dead,
A spring-tide of immortal green:
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